


Hit Me with Your Best Shot

by livy_bear



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Tumblr Post, M/M, Modern AU, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, i just want to be clear that they do NOT have sex when drunk they just fall asleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 07:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livy_bear/pseuds/livy_bear
Summary: Bucky had grown up all his life with the imprint of knuckles on the side of his jaw. When he was young, his ma always told him to watch his mouth and be polite to people. She told him to settle every fight he could with words, and that violence should never be his first thought. He never really grasped why until he was eight years old and his parents sat him and his younger sister down at the kitchen table.“These are your soul marks."--A soulmate AU where you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you for the first time and it turns to millions of colors once they do.





	Hit Me with Your Best Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a post made by fandangoing on tumblr and the subsequent comment by the-ghost-of-keith-kogane

Bucky had grown up all his life with the imprint of knuckles on the side of his jaw. When he was young, his ma always told him to watch his mouth and be polite to people. She told him to settle every fight he could with words, and that violence should never be his first thought. He never really grasped why until he was eight years old and his parents sat him and his younger sister down at the kitchen table.

“These are your soul marks,” Winifred explained, gesturing to Bucky’s jaw and Becca’s wrist. “They’re black now, but when you meet your soulmate, they’ll turn beautiful colors.”

It was then that she pulled down the collar of her shirt to show a multicolored handprint on her shoulder; his father had a multicolored palm. They explained that the soul marks didn’t hurt when they filled in, and George hadn’t even noticed his ’til the next day.

As soon as Bucky could, he went into the bathroom—pulling out the step-stool—and stared at the black mark on his face. He ran his fingers gingerly over it, like he would be able to feel his soulmate through the mark. He didn’t particularly  _want_  to be punched in the face, but…He couldn’t help but be a little swept up in the romance of the thing.

As he grew up, his starry-eyed devotion to finding his soulmate faded a bit. But Bucky still found himself holding his own jaw on nights when he felt lonely.

True to his word and his heart, Bucky never fought until it was the last option. Stepping in to a lot of arguments Becca got into in school and deescalating them.

—

Steve was a scrapper and it was not—it was  _not_  irony that his knuckles were blackened out. His mother, ever since he could remember, would shake her head when he came home after another fight. Always good fights, always for the right reasons, but always messy and bloody and violent. “One of these days, Steven,” she would say, “one of these days you’re going to punch the wrong person.”

He thought it was less and less likely that he would punch his soulmate in the face as he grew. By the time he was twenty, he was sure he wouldn’t. Ella in his art history course had blackened knuckles too, and all she did was fist pound a guy in a bar when they were suddenly multicolored. Steve was sure it would be something of the same for him. He only fought people who deserved it. He didn’t want his soulmate to be a douchebag.

Not that that stopped him from fighting at all. If anything, he fought more—angry at the world for giving him a soulmate that he might inevitably hurt.

—

It was Bucky’s first semester at NYU, and he was lost. He was  _so_  lost. He was trying to get to his Russian I class, but the name of the building he was standing in front of said Tisch. He was not where he needed to be, at all. The only person he knew on campus was Natasha and he was sure she would be in her dance class this early in the morning. He was going to miss only the second class of the semester and look like an asshole and— There was shouting and grunting just down the block.

Bucky frowned, tightening the strap on his backpack and moving around the corner. There he saw a small blonde and a bigger brunet standing nearly toe to toe, having a screaming match. The blonde was clearly physically outmatched, which only became clearer when the brunet took a full swing at him. The blonde crumpled to the ground, rolling and standing up again before tackling the brunet. They were still hissing and swearing, throwing punches.

He didn’t think, Bucky just moved toward the fight the same way he would if it were his sister getting thrown around. The brunet got back to his feet, glowering at the blonde, kicking him hard and sending him rolling down the sidewalk. A crowd had gathered to watch. Bucky reached them right as he heard the blond ask, “Is that all you got?”

Bucky stepped between them, hand out toward the brunet and facing the blond as he stood, “Whoa, hey, maybe we should calm down—”

A fist slammed into his jaw.

He staggered back, swearing loudly and clutching his face.  _God_ , that hurt like a motherfucker.  _This_  is why he never fought. Getting punched was not fun and the only time he’d ever been hit before was Becca when they were kids. Jesus Christ, his  _bones_  hurt. That was a good punch, that had to be a good punch.

“—my god, I’m so sorry!” a voice drifted in through the noise in his head. Suddenly he could hear the cars and bystanders again, the muttering and—and someone’s hands were on him. He looked up to see the blonde hovering over him.

—

Holy shit.

Holy  _shit_ , this guy was hot.

Steve had just punched a really-too-hot-for-his-own-good guy in the middle of campus, in front of everyone. He could feel his cheeks getting redder the longer the guy stayed down.

He hadn’t meant for his argument with Brock to get physical, the guy just really fucking irritated Steve. And it’s not like he’d been “looking” for a reason to fight the guy, just, when opportunity knocks… But now he’d gone and punched some kid, some other student who was just trying to help. So stupid jumping in between a fight like that. So stupid and  _so hot_.

“Are you okay?” Steve tried again now that the guy was looking at him.

“I, uh, yeah,” He was staring at Steve a little. Shit, his eyes were gorgeous.

—

Bucky should  _not_  be thinking about the best way to get this guy’s number; he’d just punched him for shitsake. But there was something really elegant about the way his hair brushed his forehead and the way his nose looked like it had been broken before. His eyes were way too fucking blue to be real, but there they were.

“I really didn’t mean to hit you,” the guy said. “I was aiming for Brock, but then you were just there and…I am  _so_  sorry.”

“It’s cool, man.” Bucky heard himself say.

“Are you sure?” Blondie offered him a hand as he stood up. Bucky took it.

“I’m positive,” Bucky shot him his trademark smirk—the one that had gotten him all of his dates to every dance in high school.

The blond’s eyes riveted to Bucky’s mouth, and then he gasped. “Oh my god, you’re already bruising!”

“What?” But the guy was already reaching for his jaw, fingers brushing over the spot he’d hit. He looked really worried.

“Please let me make this up to you?” Blue eyes looked back to Bucky’s, pleading. He nodded dumbly. “Great! There’s a Starbucks just down the way?”

—

Steve felt like an absolute asshole the whole way to Starbucks. He bought the hot guy his drink, obviously, and they hovered near each other while waiting for everything to be made.

“My name is Steve, by the way.” Steve blurted.

“James,” hot guy said. “But, um, you can call me Bucky. If you want.”

“Bucky?” Steve raised an eyebrow, and winced when his eye caught on Bucky’s jaw again. It was deep purple and red, with a little bit of green, yellow, and blue. Steve didn’t even  _know_  a bruise could turn blue.

“Yeah,” he smiled, sheepishly. “It’s a nickname from my sister. She couldn’t pronounce my full name as a kid, and Bucky is pretty easy.”

“That’s sweet,” Steve said. “That you still go by it.”

“Yeah,”

They were quiet again.

The barista came walked up to the counter with two cups. “Flat white and cold brew for Steve?” Steve went to grab for his and Bucky’s coffee when he noticed…his hand…was…

“Oh  _shit_ ,” Steve swore loudly. The barista cleared his throat and Steve apologized, grabbing the drinks. He stood stupidly, turning to look at Bucky again.

Bucky was frowning at him, like he didn’t quite know why Steve had sworn. Steve took in the “bruise” again, this time noticing the flecks of pink and orange and silver that were also swimming through. Maybe there was an actual bruise there, but there were too many colors also living on his jaw for that to be only it. 

Steve swallowed heavily, lifting his right hand—still clutching Bucky’s drink—to eye level.

“Uh, thanks?” Bucky frowned harder, reaching to take the cup from Steve. It registered as soon as he had the cup in hand. The cup which he then dropped.

—

After they had figured it out in the coffee shop, the two of them had walked to Bucky’s dorm (Russian class completely forgotten) which was closer than Steve’s apartment. They’d sat down on Bucky’s tiny bed and got to know each other, ignoring all of their responsibilities for the rest of the day. The conversation had been easy and fun. Bucky knew not all soulmates ended up as romantic partners, but after Steve left, Bucky had held his pillow to his chest and asked every god he could think of for Steve to be his.

The next time they saw each other, it was Bucky’s nineteenth birthday and they were delightfully tipsy. Not that they hadn’t been texting every single day for three weeks, but classes and work were hard to navigate. Anyway, Natasha and Clint (a friend of Steve  _and_  Nat’s) had thrown a party for him at their shitty little apartment. It was kind of amazing how many people they packed into a one bedroom. And how much alcohol they kept stock in the kitchen. Steve held his hand through most of the night, pulling Bucky from conversation to conversation. In one night, Steve had introduced him to all of his friends and half of the soccer team.

Right before midnight, Steve gasped dramatically—they were lounging on the couch together. “Oh my god,  _Bucky_!”

“What?” Bucky asked, smile painting across his face as he looked at Steve. Steve smiled back, gripping onto his forearm and leaning in.

“Buck, it’s your birthday!”

“I know.”

“But Bucky,”

“Mm?”

“You haven’t had a birthday kiss yet!” Steve was much closer to his face than he had been.

Ordinarily Bucky would have probably blushed and stuttered, but with a couple of shots in his system all he did was smile lazily. “You gonna give me one, then?”

“Yes,” Steve nodded resolutely. Then he climbed into Bucky’s lap (!!!) and molded their lips together (!!!!).

They’d started officially dating the next morning, waking up in Steve’s apartment not having even made it to a bed. The couch was comfortable—it was, but falling asleep drunk on one with your soulmate laying on top of you meant a lot of limbs fell asleep. It was perfect.


End file.
